


Just Come Home

by ursulashandkerchief



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: (Cashmere does not), Alternate Ending, Angst, Gloss wins the Quarter Quell, M/M, Significantly worse ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:15:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursulashandkerchief/pseuds/ursulashandkerchief
Summary: An alternate ending to the Quarter Quell, in which the Rebellion fails to blow up the arena, and Gloss wins the 75th Hunger Games.  Cashmere isn't so lucky.
Relationships: Gloss (Hunger Games)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	Just Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for Nico and Jo. This is what you get for giving me angsty ideas.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, we've decided Gloss is married to a fellow victor.

_ This is supposed to be the easy part.  _

Gloss stands stony-faced in front of the mirror. The pale pink suit his styling team put him in with its delicate gold detailing feels frivolous. Not serious enough for a night like tonight. Besides, Cashmere wore this shade of pink for her own interview and victory tour. 

Gloss knows this routine by heart. Sitting still and making polite conversation while his prep team glues gemstones to his face. Touch-ups and endless, mindless pleasantries while he waits to go on air. 

Now, he’s alone in his dressing room, feeling like he’s eighteen years old again. 

There’s a knock on the door.

* * *

_ Cashmere, Gloss, and his husband, Silver, gather in the living room of his house in Victor’s Village to watch the president announce the next Quarter Quell.  _

_ Snow’s words hang in the air.  _

_ Gloss stares at the TV in disbelief.  _

_ “This is a joke,” Silver says. “They can’t fucking do this.” _

_ Cashmere looks to Gloss, and Gloss studies the coffee table, avoiding eye contact.  _

_ “They can’t send us back into the arena,” Silver continues, a venomous note creeping into his voice. “That wasn’t the deal.” _

_ “They can do whatever they want,” Cashmere says quietly, setting her drink down. “What can we do about it?” _

_ Gloss puts his head in his hands.  _

_ “We should start training again.” _

* * *

When Gloss doesn’t respond, whoever’s outside his dressing room knocks again, louder.

Gloss exhales and tries to sound friendly. “Come in!”

Silver walks in, shutting the door behind him, and Gloss drops the fake smile.

“Feeling ready?” Silver comes up behind Gloss and wraps his arms around his waist. Gloss leans back against him.

“No,” he says. “I don’t know if I can make it through the re-run. Especially not—”

“I know.” Silver sighs. “I know. Just make it through the Victory Tour, alright? It’s almost over.”

“It’s never over,” Gloss says flatly. 

* * *

_ Gloss takes his place on stage, between Silver and Cashmere. It’s funny, he thinks. The Reaping is one of the most exciting days of the year in District 1. He’s never seen a ceremony this subdued. _

_ He glances at the other victors lined up behind the podium: Sapphire, Vita, Valour, Topaz. The people who’d trained him since he was little, the people he’d grown up watching in reruns and interviews. The people who were his peers now, his friends.  _

_ Next to him, Cashmere rearranges the folds of her skirt, smiling at the audience while the mayor starts his speech. Silver leans back in his seat, hiding behind his air of careless arrogance. Beneath that, Gloss knows he’s nervous. _

_ Gloss reaches out to take Silver’s hand, and Silver shoots him a tense little smile.  _

_ The escort for District 1, Letitia, crosses to the bowl holding the women’s names. District 1 has produced more than its fair share of victors, but there were still only a handful of names in there. _

_ Somehow, Gloss isn’t surprised when their escort reads out the name: _

_ “Cashmere Nicholo!” _

_ Cashmere’s smile drops. She looks over at Gloss and Silver, like there’s anything either of them can do to stop this, and then back at Letitia.  _

_ Just like that, Cashmere’s smile is back, although it doesn’t reach her eyes now. She rises from her seat and crosses the stage, waving at the crowd.  _

_ Nobody volunteers to take her place. _

_ Letitia moves on to the second bowl, carefully smoothing out the piece of paper. Gloss exhales, trying not to hold his breath, hoping against hope that it won’t be him.  _

_ Of course it isn’t. _

_ “Silver Swanson!” _

_ Gloss stops breathing. All he can do is sit there, the rushing in his ears drowning out the crowd, as Silver gives his hand a last squeeze and then lets go, crossing the stage to join Letitia and Cashmere.  _

_ Deep down, Gloss knew this might happen. He and Cashmere were audience favourites; even his wedding had been broadcast on live TV. They’d been Capitol darlings since Gloss’s interview, and Silver had been dragged back into the spotlight with them.  _

_ If Silver and Cashmere went into the arena, Gloss was guaranteed to lose at least one of them. And if one of them won—would Gloss’s marriage survive if Silver killed his sister? Could Gloss ever look Cashmere in the eye again if she killed his husband? _

_ He’d realised a few days ago that there was only one way out of this. Gloss knows what he has to do.  _

_ Gloss regains his voice, just as the applause dies down.  _

_ “I volunteer as tribute.” Gloss rises from his seat, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes on him. He clears his throat. “I volunteer.”  _

_ Silver turns to him, eyes wide, a look of horror forming on his face.  _ “No!”

_ Gloss walks over to Letitia, squaring his shoulders. _

_ “No.” Silver gets his expression under control. The mask is back up—he’s trying to come up with a strategy.  _

_ Silver swings around to face Letitia. “I got reaped, fair and square. I’m not forfeiting my place. I want to go into the Arena.” _

_ “That’s not how it works,” Gloss says, trying to keep his tone level. “I’m volunteering. Letitia—” _

_ Letitia looks from Silver to Gloss. “Well. General procedure—general procedure would state that, ah… as our volunteer, Gloss will be representing District 1 this year." _

_ Silver turns back to Gloss, reaching out to take both his hands. “Don’t do this,” he says. _

_ Beneath the bravado, Gloss recognises the fear in his eyes. Silver pulls him closer, lowering his voice so that Letitia and the audience can’t hear him.  _

_ “Do not fucking do this.”  _

_ “I’m sorry,” Gloss says. _

_ And then he pulls away, and takes his place beside Cashmere. _

* * *

“I wish you could be there with me,” Gloss says. 

“I know.” Silver sighs. “I’ll be out there watching. At least you’ll know I’m there. And I’ll come and find you as soon as it’s over.” 

He leans in to press a kiss to Gloss’s temple.

Gloss cracks a wan smile. “Don’t mess up the makeup.”

He can see Silver rolling his eyes in the mirror. “You still care?”

* * *

_ With all of Panem watching, Silver had to keep it together on stage. Once their train set off for the Capitol, there’s nothing left to hold his feelings back. Cashmere and her mentor had excused themselves, leaving Silver and Gloss alone in the dining car. _

_ “What were you thinking?” Silver searches Gloss’s face like he’ll find something to make it all make sense.  _

_ “I can’t lose either of you,” Gloss says, sinking down onto the sofa.  _

_ Silver looks away and swallows hard, the way he does when he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t want to lose me, and you also don’t want to lose Cashmere. So you’re going to go into the arena with her. What’s your plan, to lay down and fucking die?” _

_ “I’m keeping Cashmere safe.” Gloss looks down at his hands.  _

_ “No.” Silver walks over. “I need you to promise me—” _

_ He reaches out to cup the side of Gloss’s face. “Look at me. I need you to promise me you’ll do whatever you have to to come back home.” _

_ Gloss puts his hand on top of Silver’s. “You know I can’t do that.” _

_ Silver draws a shaky breath. “Fine. But if something happens to Cashmere, and you’re still in the Games, then you promise you’ll do whatever it takes.” _

_ Gloss knows Silver too well to agree to that. Wouldn’t put it past him to pull some strings, sweet-talk a gamemaker or two, bargain away Cashmere’s life if it meant getting Gloss back in one piece.  _

_ “I can’t promise you anything.” _

_ Silver studies his face a moment longer, and then sits down next to Gloss, putting his arm around his shoulder. Gloss leans against him and reaches out for Silver’s free hand.  _

_ “You’re being an asshole,” Silver says softly.  _

_ Gloss looks up at him, wondering how many times he’ll get to be this close to his husband again.  _

_ “I know.” _

* * *

Tonight, Caesar Flickerman’s hair is lavender. The set is decorated with roses, pink and white, their stems and leaves gilded. Last year, the throne was replaced by a loveseat for Katniss and Peeta. This year, Gloss is alone, and the throne is back in its rightful place.

Cashmere sat on this throne twelve years ago to watch her own recap. She’d looked so small back then, watching her own kills with a serene smile. 

Caesar goes mercifully easy on him in the interview, and Gloss is grateful for the fact that Cashmere barely comes up. He smiles out of pure muscle memory, thinking about the party he’ll be expected to attend this evening. It’s going to be unbearable. 

Snow places the crown on Gloss’s head, an ornate golden laurel wreath. The lights dim—time for the part that Gloss has been dreading most. The recap.

Gloss can feel the cameras push in on him as he watches the Bloodbath. 

Watches himself kill the male tribute from District 6. They’d met a few times before the Quarter Quell. Didn’t know each other well, but he’d been polite.

Watches the Careers figure out the way the arena worked and hunt desperately for water, watches them track Finnick and Katniss’s alliance down.

He watches himself kill Wiress. Watches Katniss knock an arrow, and Cashmere bury a throwing knife in her throat before she can loose it. The arrow flies wide, burying itself in Gloss’s shoulder instead. If Cashmere had been a moment too slow, Gloss would have been dead.

He watches as he and Cashmere split away from the Career pack and strike out on their own. The male tribute from 10 gets torn apart by a mutt. Peeta dies with an axe in his chest. Without Katniss, he’s the weak link in the alliance. 

Brutus kills Chaff. Beetee goes down with a throwing knife between his shoulder blades. 

Gloss shuts his eyes for a moment as Finnick goes down, trying to staunch the bleeding from an awful wound in his stomach. Finnick had been friends with him and Cashmere, had been a friendly face in the crowd at those endless Capitol parties. He may have been Gloss’s rival in the arena, but he deserved better than  _ this. _

As Gloss fights a wave of nausea, he wonders how Annie’s holding up.

There’s a clip of him and Cashmere, sitting on the beach. A quiet moment. 

* * *

_ “How do you think Silver’s doing?” Cashmere looks up from the knife she’s cleaning.  _

_ “Tied up in knots, and doing his best to hide it.” Gloss grins. A real smile, not the pleasant, practiced expression he uses for Capitol interviews. “Probably still mad at me for volunteering.” _

_ “He’ll want you to win just so that you can come home and apologise.”  _

_ Gloss laughs. “Not happening.” _

_ Cashmere gives him a serious look. “You’re not apologising, or you’re not going to make it back?” _

_ Gloss looks down at his hands, at his token. He’d brought a golden pin in the shape of a rose into the arena with him during the 63rd Games. This time, his token was his wedding ring. _

_ “I don’t know,” he says softly. Then he looks up at Cashmere and smiles, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to have to apologise to Silver for me if you make it back.” _

* * *

Day six. The day Gloss dreads watching. He and Cashmere set out to track Brutus and Enobaria down. It’s a clear, sunny day, and they chat softly as they walk. 

* * *

_ They pass through the section with the Jabberjays. Their aunt’s voice calls out from the trees, screaming. Then Finnick’s voice, crying out in pain; then Silver, begging for help.  _

_ Gloss stops, shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. This isn’t real. This isn’t Silver. _

_ “Gloss.” Cashmere stops and turns around. “Gloss. It’s just the Jabberjays. It’s not real.” _

_ “It sounds real,” Gloss says, twisting his ring around his finger.  _

_ “I know.” Cashmere walks over and puts her hand on his shoulder. “But we need to keep moving. We can’t stay here.” _

_ Gloss looks at her for a long moment, and then he nods. Wordlessly, he starts walking again. Silver’s safe, he tells himself. He’s probably sitting in the control room with his head in his hands, exasperated with Gloss for falling for the Jabberjays, the oldest trick in the book.  _

_ A crunch from deep within the woods makes Gloss’s blood run cold. Footsteps, too big to be a tribute. A mutt. _

_ The footsteps speed up, coming toward them. _

_ Gloss looks over at Cashmere, wide-eyed. “Do you hear that?” _

_ “We need to get out of here,” Cashmere whispers. “Gloss,  _ run!”

_ They’re almost out of the Jabberjay segment when a new voice joins Silver and Finnick and their aunt. A girl’s voice, screaming desperately, begging for mercy. Gloss doesn’t recognise it. A moment too late, he realises Cashmere isn’t with him anymore.  _

_ She’s fifty yards behind him, on the other side of the boundary between segments, stopped dead in her tracks. _

_ “No,” she whispers. _

_ “Cashmere, move!” _

_ Cashmere ignores him, turning to search the tree line for the source of the voice. Her face is pale, ashen. _

_ “Cashmere!” Gloss starts running again, this time back towards her. _

_ He never makes it back to Cashmere. Instead, he collides hard with an invisible boundary between the two segments of the clock. He’s lucky he’s not burned or electrocuted, but still, he’s trapped on one side of the barrier, and Cashmere is on the other.  _

_ What are the Gamemakers playing at? _

_ “CASHMERE!” _

_ She snaps out of her trance, turning back to Gloss, and then she takes off running again, slowing to a stop before the force field. _

_ “There’s a barrier,” Gloss says, trying to sound less frantic than he feels. If nothing else, he has to stay calm for his sister. “It’s not dangerous, but I can’t get through it.” _

_ Cashmere looks back over her shoulder. “You think the Gamemakers did this?” _

_ “What else could it be?” Gloss takes a deep breath. “It’s okay. We’ll stick together and follow the boundary. Maybe there’s an end or a break somewhere. And if not…” _

_ Cashmere finishes his thought. “Maybe it’ll go away by the end of the hour.”  _

_ “Exactly. We’re going to be alright.” _

_ But it isn’t alright. Cashmere barely has time to turn around and reach for a knife when the mutt barrels out at her from the trees.  _

* * *

They replay Cashmere’s death in full. Gloss can’t look away as the mutt reaches his sister, as she tries to fight back. In the recap, Gloss throws himself at the barrier, desperately trying to reach her.

* * *

_ It doesn’t work.  _

_ He screams her name over and over again until his voice is ragged. Cashmere’s throwing knives are no match for the mutt. _

_ Finally, the mutt drops her and lopes away, back into the woods. There’s a soft whirring sound, and Gloss stumbles forward as the barrier vanishes. _

_ He sinks to his knees next to Cashmere. _

_ She’s still alive.  _

_ There’s a deep gash in her forehead and another in her stomach. Her left arm is at an awkward angle, and she’s covered in her own blood. _

_ “Cashmere,” Gloss whispers, reaching out to smooth a strand of blonde hair back from her forehead. _

_ She draws a shaky breath and gives Gloss a bloody smile. “Looks like you’re going to have to apologise to Silver yourself.” _

_ “No,” Gloss says. “No. We’re going to fix this. We’re going to—” _

_ He swallows hard. “We’re going to—” _

_ What are they going to do? _

_ “It’s okay.” Cashmere reaches out to take his hand. “I want you to win. Promise.” _

_ “Cashmere—” _

_ “Gloss. Please.” She squeezes his hand tightly.  _

_ Gloss promises her what he couldn’t promise Silver. _

_ Cashmere smiles. “Good.” _

_ She manages one last ragged breath. Then her grip on Gloss’s hand loosens, and her cannon goes off.  _

* * *

Caesar leans forward in his seat. “I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Gloss smiles, a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, Caesar.”

“Your sister was a remarkable woman,” Caesar continues. “I’m sure none of us will ever forget her.”

“No,” says Gloss. “She won’t be forgotten.”

His smile drops. “We’ll never forget what the Capitol did to her.”

Caesar’s own smile wavers. 

Maybe this is stupid. Maybe it’s dangerous. But all the emotions that Gloss has been pushing down are rushing back up to the surface, and Gloss is sick of being pleasant and charming and inoffensive. 

Gloss looks straight into the camera. He raises the three middle fingers of his right hand to his lips.

He feels the weight of thousands of eyes on him, all of Panem watching, as he gives the salute that started everything.

The broadcast cuts off abruptly. 


End file.
